Devil's Brigade
by DarlingNumber6
Summary: Alfred and Matthew join the Devil's Brigade in WWII and become fast friends. AU, slash.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Ahem. Don't know if I'm doing this whole posting thing right but I'll give it a shot; let's start us off with the basics.**

First of all the pairing is going to be Alfred/Matthew, it's an AU set in WWII where they both join the Devil's Brigade.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, not Hetalia, not Canada, not anything.

For the French parts I simply decided to italicize it because I thought that would make it easier for everyone involved. If anyone would rather I write it in French and translate it at the bottom I can do that as well, or mix in both, your wish is my command darlings.

It will be M later on... oh will it ever be. But first things first! A little exposé and then on to the interesting things I promise. Now without further ado:

**The Devil's Brigade: A Reluctant Story**

**Chapter 1: Matthieu's very own prologue**

The sun had already started to dip behind the pine trees in the distance making them look like a flat, black, cut-out background when he finally returned to the little house. Near to town but not enough to be part of the bundle of houses and stores that made it up, the small farmhouse lay next to a line of forest that extended far up into the northern reaches of Canada. He would have stayed out longer but he wasn't that fond of the dark and although it wasn't late the sun set as early as four in the afternoon this time of year. When he entered into the relative warmth he felt his cheeks prickle and tingle and realized for the first time just how cold it was out there, it didn't matter to him though, he had always loved the snow and more than that simply loved being outdoors. A smile lit up on his flushed face when he saw his mother on a couch in the living room directly to the left of the foyer.

"_Why do you go out in that horrid weather Matthieu?" _

His mother never talked, it seemed to him that she only ever sang. The words seemed to flow together and tilt up and down with inflections that it was as if they told a story separate from their particular meanings. With her gesticulations to supplement this sing-talking every conversation was like a performance, and he was her biggest fan. French was, in his opinion, a much nicer language than the one spoken in school, and it was the one he had first learned. His mother once told him that his father was English but that didn't matter, he hardly remembered his father.

"_I like it maman, is there food for us? Is John still here?"_

His father, he was told, was a very powerful man until late, and the reason he was never around was because he was away on business. The last time he had seen his father Matthieu was two years old. Matthieu wondered how his father could find that much business to occupy his time when there was no business whatsoever to speak of all over town.

"_Oui darling. In the oven"_

She had meant the food then, nothing about John. He hoped John was still here. Times had been hard for years, Matthieu didn't know much about it, but he could tell there was no work. His mother had once held a job as secretary in a government building due to her, albeit reluctant, bilingualism. That was years ago now, back in the 1920's when Matthieu was barely old enough to know that his life was good, then it was gone. Now he was almost ten years old, and he knew that when his mother had men around he had a place to stay and food to eat.

"_Maman, what's going to happen if father ever comes back?"_

Matthieu didn't know him enough to miss him, only enough to know that his father should be there. The men his mother sometimes entertained had only eyes and time for her. These men saved them for a brief moment and then his mother would grow bored, have another fling, there would be fight, and they would move in with another man. Matthieu's mother loved men, indiscriminately and with all her heart and as she was very beautiful, they loved her back.

"_I hope he never does Matthieu. That horrible man. You know he left us here all alone? Well good I say! He didn't love us Matthieu he was awful to us. Left us up here in this frozen wasteland and took off south. He doesn't care enough to come back Matthieu, not about me and not about you. I'm glad of that darling, this way you can be all mine"_

Matthieu thought that he was perhaps glad his father wasn't there after all. It was true that he had left them hardly with any money and certainly with nowhere to go.

"_My child you are being even quieter than usual, come here so I can kiss you Matthieu"_

He decided that all he needed was his mother and her beautiful song voice to make him happy. Even though she occasionally fell in to bouts of depression only supplemented by her constant need for intoxication and was constantly bringing back strange men this darkness only made her light seem more enticingly and invitingly bright.

Her breath smelling familiarly like wine she kissed his forehead and cheeks, he heard the door open again, assuming it could only be John, he smiled, content in his mothers loving embrace.

**A/N:** Thanks for reading that, also if you're interested all in update time don't worry, I am an unbelievable procrastinator in that things like this often take precedence over... my homework, say. Anyway at LEAST weekly. Secondly I won't ever hold off updating in hopes of getting more reviews. Frankly I would write till I was blue in the face even if no one did, and although I would GREATLY appreciate any review I won't hound you for it darlings.

If you're reading this, I hope you enjoyed it! And if not- pew! Pew! I wish it was Christmas.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Hi, quick question. Does anyone else have problems uploading stuff that's on Word documents? I have to copy and paste it to an Open Office doc and go from there. Which is no problem really just wondering... anywho.

My sweet, sweet, love of my life that reviewed! GreyMoth why yes I have indeed watched it, in fact the Canadian's arriving never fails to amuse me. That movie coupled with articles on Cracked may or may not have been the inspiration for this because I always read/ watch things with my slash goggles in full focus. However that being said I tend to run in my own directions so I hope you don't mind if it deviates from that. A million thanks for reviewing, and I like to think that my beloved land turning into a freakin' tundra for half the years keeps the crazies away... well most of them.

Ahem. This is still mostly introduction type deal I suppose but bros hang on and I promise that this story will have some Alfred in it soon enough. I'd say by Wednesday by whatever crack-pot time zone I'm in. I haven't the slightest idea. The British Columbian one? Whatever my point is it's coming soon. If I'm flailing around too badly here PLEASE tell me because otherwise I'll just fumble around forever. Cheers. Onwards.

**Chapter 2: In which he grows up, but not really**

The first thing Matthieu noticed when he woke up was that one foot was sticking out of the blankets and that said foot was absolutely freezing. He quickly pulled it back underneath his cocoon of blankets and tried rubbing it against his warm foot to get the blood flowing. The alarm clock on his side table glowed faintly and it appeared to read about ten minutes after five in the morning. Too early to get ready for school then.

The second thought he entertained was that it was around this time eight years ago that his mother left. Well. Left implies some sort of self-determination, it was more like his father had forced her to leave. Stormed in the happy, albeit unconventional, little home that Matthieu and his mother had created and stole Matthieu's beloved mother away from him. Under some pretense of her being neglectful and not fit to be a parent, never mind that he had been gone for almost the entirety of Matthieu's life. But Matthieu's father was powerful and English in a place that was disposed towards power and predominantly English-speaking. From that day onward if Matthieu so much as breathed in a French accent his father would lecture him about the "inferior" language and make it very clear that such things were not allowed in his house.

Matthieu rubbed his face, giving up going back to sleep. He missed his mother bitterly, and never would forget her shrieking cries as his father led him away with a court order in his hand declaring his parents' marriage void. She had been an inconsistent but devout Catholic and her divorce coupled with losing her only son had been very hard on her and although he presumed she had gone back to Quebec, all Matthieu knew for sure was that she disappeared and this man was to now be taking care of him.

He never knew what it was exactly that made his father come back either. He had heard that his father had been rapidly losing power and wealth in the south and had moved back north in an attempt to find certain ground to get himself back up to the top. Things had, needless to say, not gone as expected for him.

The changes had not seemed so bad at first, Matthieu and his father moved in to the actual town itself, near the school, and things continued with a semblance of normalcy. Before too long however speaking English seemed less like a suggestion and more like a commandment, playing around in the snow was frowned upon and Matthieu's slightly unkempt way of dressing was seen as "uncouth". Matthieu remembered these changes like a bad taste in his mouth. A bad, burnt-scone-tasting taste that wouldn't go away.

Despite all this he really couldn't say he had it bad. Although his father was strict there was times when Matthieu thought that he saw care in the older man's eyes. He had bought Matthieu a stuffed toy when Matthieu's mother left, a fluffy little polar bear that Matthieu had named after a place he had read once in a book and remembered incorrectly as "Kumajiro", to which Matthiue had become adorably but embarrassingly attached too. He had also managed to excel in hockey, a very important part of his small town life, and had managed to make friend through this despite his shy exterior. He had even managed to miraculously obtain a girlfriend, the older sister of one of his teammates. She was emotional and slightly dim, but well meaning and very cute. Overall he couldn't believe his luck.

Truthfully, his only regret was not being born three years earlier.

Coincidently the war over in Europe had been going on for two years already at this point. And Matthieu was only 17. He wished he could have joined up and shipped out as soon as it had started. Or even that he could pass for 18. But he would grudgingly admit that he had rather delicate features and although his muscles were tough and sinewy from so much hockey and generally running around he wasn't ripped or anything.

"One more year," he thought to himself," one more bloody year."

Although it was probably a terrible thing to be thinking he almost wished the war wouldn't end before he got there so he wouldn't miss all the excitement. But mostly he wanted to go with all the brave men, to be able to count himself in that number, and to make Canada proud. It was probably stupid, he knew that, but he really did want to make an inanimate thing proud.

Which he certainly wasn't going to do by sitting around in bed day dreaming. He double checked that the alarm was set for 7:30 and snuggled deeper in his cocoon.

**A/N: OH GOD WHAT HAVE I BECOME.** I promise you I will do better next time. I'm just too coke'd out to do it this time! Er what? No one reads this anyway... I wish De Gualle was still alive so he and I could throw down in my living room like "VIVE LE LIBRE QUOI, MOTHERFUCKER?" (Maybe I just included that so I could justify the M rating so far, you'll never know).


End file.
